


Constant Never

by Tabithian



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse, Red Robin (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2012-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-16 02:16:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/534377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabithian/pseuds/Tabithian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Working for Wayne Enterprises isn't what it used to be, not since Bruce Wayne went missing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Constant Never

**Author's Note:**

> yozoraarashi asked for Dick/Tim, time travel AU. *hands*

Working for Wayne Enterprises isn't what it used to be, not since Bruce Wayne went missing. The _real_ Bruce Wayne, not whoever puts on Brucie's smile for the cameras.

Still. “Time machine?” Tim finds himself asking, as he scrolls through the files on the computer in the lab that's not supposed to be there, but obviously is. Maybe Tam was right about the junior detective thing. Or not, because _that_ is not a shadow, and oh, hey. _Batman_.

“Who are you?”

Not Bruce, but still Batman and this is not good, is it? (All signs point to no, not really.)

“Er. I got lost?” (And his hands fell on the keyboard in such a way that he found all these wonderful files full of supposedly impossible science that is almost certainly not intended for good.)

He can _feel_ Batman's skepticism.

Tim holds his hands up because _what is he doing_ , but Batman keeps coming closer, and okay, yes. Tim can see how that would intimidate people, but he works with Tam and really. If she's not terrifying when things aren't operating smoothly, he doesn't know what is.

That, and he remembers watching _this_ Batman running around the city in short-shorts, so there's that. (It has to be Dick. There's no one else, and Nightwing hasn't been seen lately.)

“That's not what I asked.”

Well, no. But. “Uh,” Tim says as something occurs to him. He had a time frame to work under, and it had taken him longer than expected to get into the files.

Hidden lab. Completely unexpected time machine. _Where is the mad scientist_?

Right on cue, the lights cut out and demented laughter fills the air.

“Seriously?”

Dick growls, but it sounds more like exasperation than anger. And then Tim's being dragged into the shadows, gloved hand over his mouth and Dick telling him to stay put and be quiet, which Tim is perfectly fine with.

Dick moves away, silently. The mad scientist has stopped laughing and is monologuing – apparently that's actually a thing villains do that Hollywood didn't make up.

Tim's only half listening, paying more attention on his surroundings, but it sounds like the mad scientist spent his formative years watching the _Back to the Future_ movies. So of course he'd dreamed of inventing a working time machine and how they (the scientific world) laughed. Oh how they laughed, the shortsighted fools!

“I know you're there!” the scientist yells, and one of the overhead lights comes on like a spotlight, and hey look at that, he actually did know where Dick was.

He also has what looks like an honest to God old-school cartoon ray gun. Also, people decked out in combat gear with no identifying insignia, faces hidden behind the mirrored visors of their helmets.

The mad scientist fires and misses because Dick's better than that, and the commandos take that as an order to attack. They don't use their guns because they're surrounded by delicate equipment but they're still very much a threat. Highly trained and they vastly outnumber Dick.

The rest of the lights come back on leaving Dick with precious little cover, until he takes a few out with his Batarangs, and, right.

Vengeance of the night, he'll be fine.

The mad scientist either isn't worried that his ray gun will damage anything or is certain he won't hit anything important because he's firing wildly. Dick spends the next several minutes dodging blasts from the mad scientist's ray gun and evading the commandos.

Watching from his hiding spot, Tim can't help but feel. Something’s wrong. (Beside everything, because really.)

Tim's eyes narrow when he realizes the mad scientist and his commandos are herding Dick towards the back of the lab. Dick obviously knows it because he's not making it easy on the guy or his commandos.

But.

Tim sighs, because it looks as though he's signed on as the plucky sidekick or the lo – because _ha_ , his life doesn't work like that. He leans around the bank of diagnostic machines Dick shoved him behind, and _yes_.

Looming at the back of the room is the completely unexpected time machine, all gleaming metal and smooth curves arching toward the high ceiling that's a special kind of ominous right now. The mad scientist and his commandos are focused on trying to get Dick on the pad at the front of it, and there's just no way that can be in any way good.

Tim takes in the lab, his current position, and the platform the mad scientist is on. “I'd better get a raise for this,” he mutters to himself, and makes his run. (Well, awkward scuttle.)

It feels horribly like every bad action movie he's seen – thanks, Tam – ducking for cover and listening to the mad scientist cackling and the sound of bodies hitting the ground as Dick takes the commandos out.

When he's close enough, Tim pulls the mini Maglite Tam gave him as a joke out of his pocket – _for your junior detective kit_ \- and presses it against the mad scientist's back.

“Hey,” Tim says because he's no superhero, just Tim Drake.

The mad scientist _hisses_ , like an annoyed cat. “Who are you?” A scornful laugh, “The boy blunder?”

Creative, but no. “Personal assistant, but that's not important right now,” Tim says, and realizes the fighting's stopped, just one commando left and Dick, both looking up at them. “Put the ray gun down.”

Not something Tim ever expected to have to say, but.

_Gotham_.

The mad scientist complies, a sneer audible in his voice as he says, “Fools! You have no idea what I could have done!”

“Uh-huh,” Tim says, wincing when Dick puts the last commando down with a sharp punch to the face, and then he's headed for them.

The lights flicker and the mad scientist jerks his elbow back at Tim's face, and Tim dodges it. He tries to move back, but he's not fast enough and the mad scientist sweeps his feet out from under him. Tim goes over the edge of the platform and _ow_ , the floor was farther away than he realized.

Not that he has much time to think about that because a computerized countdown kicks off – almost definitely not a sign of good things - and there's Dick helping him up.

“Does this happen to you a lot?” Tim asks, because really, this is just not his day.

“More often than I'd like,” Dick says, something like amusement in his voice in spite of everything. “Come on, we need to move.”

They do, but unfortunately, it's in the wrong direction. “Wait, no - “

_More_ cackling, and, “I have you where I want you now!”

“Oh, crap,” Tim says, when he realizes where they are. Self-preservation goes out the window as he tries to shove Dick off, shove him _away_ , but Dick's not having it, stubborn down to the last.

“What are you - “

Dick doesn't get to finish his sentence because the pad they're standing on goes from a low hum to a high whine as it lights up. The countdown hits zero, there’s a blinding flash of light (really?) and then a wrenching sensation that comes with all kind of pain and thankfully, everything goes black.

********

_Ow_.

“Hey, wake up.”

Tim really wants to say no, for reasons. Reasons like the pounding headache, residual nausea, and the overall _ow_ of his everything.

He opens his eyes to see green. Really a lot of green, and just beyond it blue and that is just really, really not Gotham at all. (Or the hidden lab in Wayne Tower and right, right. Time machine.)

“Someone stole our tent,” Tim says, and tries not to laugh because now is not the time, but really.

“Are you all right?” Dick, worried because Tim sounds like a crazy person and that's never good.

Tim waves a hand, “I'm good.”

Mostly. He still hurts, his head is killing him and he's pretty sure there haven't been plants like the leaves to the tree he's staring up at in Gotham for a long time. A really, really long time.

Something _roars_ , nothing at all like Godzilla or Jurassic Park and about a million times more terrifying because it's real, and that was a time machine, and why is this his life?

“Please tell me that wasn't - “

“Dinosaurs,” Dick says, and there's something in his voice that -

Oh God, he sounds _excited_.

“No,” Tim says, because so, so not good.

“Yes,” Dick says, moving into his line of sight. “Come on, time to get up.”

“Not if there are dinosaurs that are going to eat me,” Tim mutters, not sure if that was a pun of just poor wording on Dick's part.

Dick's still in full Batman gear even with the heat and humidity, but there's a distinctly un-Batman smile on his face.

Because dinosaurs.

“I knew I should have listened to Tam.”

“Dinosaurs!” Dick says again, like that's a good thing.

Tim sighs, and lets Dick help him up into a sitting position, leaning him against the trunk of a tree.

“We won't be here long,” Dick says, looking at Tim.

Another roar, that doesn't sound far away enough.

“Because the dinosaurs are going to eat us soon?”

Dick snorts. “Because people are going to come looking for me when I don't check in.”

“And how often are you supposed to do that?” Tim asks, a valid question in his mind.

Dick opens his mouth, and closes it. “Um.”

Tim rubs his face with his hands, and tries not to laugh.

Worst day ever.

He wasn't even supposed to be down in the mystery lab, just filling in for Lucius' personal assistant for the day. But no, he just had to investigate after finding those suspicious numbers in the reports. He's seen movies that start out that way, and it never ends well for the poor sap who does the investigating.

Ever.

“You're assuming the time machine is still in one piece,” Tim points out, lowering his hands to see Dick's reaction because that countdown, the mad scientist, and Murphy's Law.

“Stop with all the optimism,” Dick says, but there's no irritation in his voice, and the tiniest hint of a smile on his face.

Tim just looks at him. “Dinosaurs,” he says.

“Dinosaurs,” Dick agrees, obviously still not seeing that as a bad thing.

“Okay, then.”

Dick's watching him, like he's waiting for Tim to have a nice little breakdown, which actually doesn't sound so bad? But really, that wouldn't be productive, so.

“Now what?”

“Now we find somewhere safe to wait for someone to find us,” Dick says, getting to his feet. He holds his hand out to Tim, who takes it because yes, okay. Good plan.

“You never told me your name,” Dick says, headed deeper into the forest. (Jungle? Trees.)

Tim feels the corner of his mouth curve slightly. At least things will be interesting for the next however long.

“Tim,” he says, following Dick. “Tim Drake.”

Dick looks back at him like oh, now he remembers Tim. “...Drake.”

His family lost the company years ago, and now Tim's just another cog at Wayne Enterprises. (A cog who doesn't know when to keep his nose out of other peoples' business.)

Also that part where the Drakes were the closest neighbors the Waynes had, and also, _everything else_. (Up to and including the fact that sadly, Tim still has that hopeless crush on Dick Grayson, and his life, okay. _His life_.)

“Huh.” Dick's still staring, like. Tim doesn't know, really.

“Not that this isn't great,” Tim says. “But you know, dinosaurs?”

Dick's mouth twitches, and yes, Tim knows he keeps harping about the dinosaurs and getting eaten by same, but really. It's not like Batman could take a Tyrannosaur Rex on and hope to win. And even if by some miracle he _could_ , there's no knowing how long they're going to be here, so.

“You don't like dinosaurs?”

“In theory,” Tim settles on, because who actually expects to be anywhere near a live dinosaur?

“That looks like a good spot,” Dick says.

Tim follows his gaze to a tree with thick branches reaching high, high in the sky. Tall enough that they should be out of reach of most dinosaurs, but. Dick's smiling at him, taking out his grapple. Tim's going to have to hold on to him like the Mary Jane to his Spider-man to get up there.

“Really?”

Dick holds his arm out and waggles his hand and smirking. “Would you rather stay down here?”

Well when he puts it like _that_.


End file.
